


What Better Time Than Now?

by Ghost_on_the_E_Shore



Category: Bunheads
Genre: Ballet, Broadway, Childhood Friends, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Multi, Near Future, Plans For The Future, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 09:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_on_the_E_Shore/pseuds/Ghost_on_the_E_Shore
Summary: Boo feels pulled in different directions after college, while an aging Michelle faces new challenges with Fanny and the studio. "A Year in the Life," Bunheads style.
Kudos: 1





	1. “Danny Glover’s Always Up for a Little Hoo-Ha!”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been workshopping this story for awhile now and am glad to present it to those few remaining Bunheads diehards! This is set from the summer of 2018 through the summer of 2019, taking us through the year after the original four (Paradise Class of '14) would've graduated college. No COVID-19 in this universe, so assume whatever career paths everyone ends up on continue unimpeded.
> 
> Special thanks to Mierke, who consulted and helped me find the voices of each character. And now, much like Styx during their 1996 reunion tour, it's time to "Return to Paradise."

** Late August 2018 **

The last hints of daylight began fading as the sun found its nightly home beneath the shoreline, and a salty breeze wafted through the windows of the old dance studio. Lifelong residents of this sleepy coastal town never noticed the ocean air anymore, but the two dancers hard at work under the skylights found it invigorating. The younger dancer had gotten used to the ever-present fumes of Los Angeles and was grateful to be immersed in something purer than smog. The older had lived in so many places in her life that she still picked up on every imperceptible difference between locales.

“Easy, Riggs! I’m too old for this hoo-ha.”

“‘Hoo-ha?’ I’m 22, Michelle, you don’t have to clean it up around me.”

“Mark my words: when you’re Murtaugh and you’re 41 and you’ve got your own Riggs dancing rings around you, you’ll be squawking to _them_ about hoo-ha.”

“Where did you even get ‘hoo-ha’ anyway?”

“ _Lethal Weapon 3_ was on cable last week and I was too lazy to grab the remote.”

“That’s the best they could come up with? ‘Hoo-ha’?”

“Never underestimate the people who brought us ‘Yippee-ki-yay, Mr. Falcon!’”

“We’ve got time for one more set. Come on, Murtaugh, push through!”

“Ughhh with the hoo-ha already!”

This exchange became more common by the day, a winded Michelle bantering with Boo, who was upright and ready to master the next steps. It should have come as no surprise; Boo was entering her physical prime, Michelle far past hers. But as someone who had met young Bettina years ago when she was a teenage wallflower, Michelle would always be struck by the transformation.

“Remember to keep your shoulders square during that last jump, when you get to New York that attention to detail will set you apart.”

“Square shoulders, got it.”

Boo concentrated hard and kept her shoulders square, this time executing the jump with near-perfect precision. One of the joys of working with Boo was that Michelle only had to give her instruction once, and within one or two more run-throughs she had it down flat. Michelle applauded lightly with outstretched arms and face scrunched up like some Gilded Age industrialist.

“I’m at a loss, old bean. The student truly has become the master.”

Boo turned around beaming and brought her hands together, bowing as she replied “Sensai” to her longtime mentor and friend.

The clock chimed seven and their lesson came to an end. As Michelle watched Boo vacate the stage to gather her things for the night, it occurred to her that this master had little left to teach her charge.

“When are you going to try New York, Boo? You’re more than ready for the Broadway set. This stuff we’re working on now is nitpicking.”

Boo hesitated at the suggestion. Her back was turned to Michelle, otherwise she would have seen the corners of Boo’s mouth twitch and her face gain a faint shade of red that had little to do with the dancing she had just finished. She recovered quickly and broke into a well-rehearsed rebuttal.

“Why the rush? There’s so much more you can teach me!”

“Kid, you’ve been kicking my ass out here for months. If anyone watched these lessons they’d arrest you for elder abuse.”

On that point Boo couldn’t argue. Michelle had been more than generous with her time and had passed along almost everything she knew about breaking in as a professional dancer.

“I still have some money to save. New York is expensive, you wouldn’t want me to have to room with Pizza Rat!”

“You’ve saved plenty!” Michelle followed as Boo began circling the room while looking a little too hard for something in her purse. “Between all the L.A. gigs and the bar shifts and the lessons you teach here, you’re the only dancer your age who could start her own hedge fund!”

“One more season. I have to be back in L.A. next month anyway and finalize the steps for the movie.”

“You mean for _Seven Minutes in Heaven 2: Seven *More* Minutes in Heaven_?”

“You know that’s not the title,” replied an exasperated Boo.

“I know, I just want to hear you say it again,” teased Michelle with a sly grin.

Boo sighed and once more admitted her latest project - “ _Spin the Bottle 2: Bottoms Up_ ” - as Michelle made giddy noises.

“Hey, I’m lead choreographer on this one, it has to be perfect!”

“Okay, so you make sure those _Tiger Beat_ bottles spin with precision and then you can head east! You’ll have a clean break, there’s no better…”

Suddenly Boo stopped pacing and wheeled around, not bothering to hide the concern on her face anymore.

“It’s just not the time yet,” she insisted.

There it was, that last little wisp of wallflower that Boo never grew out of. Michelle had recognized it all summer but couldn’t decide if this was just leftover from her high school years or if it came from what happened three summers ago. After all, who else called New York home these days, or at least crashed there when she wasn’t on tour?

“Okay,” said Michelle, lightly gripping Boo’s shoulders to steady her weary student. “Just remember that the shelf life for a young dancer isn’t as long as you think. If you’re waiting for when you feel ready, it’ll probably be too late.” On those points Michelle spoke from personal experience.

“I know. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Boo reassured herself. “Just one more season around here, and once the movie wraps I’ll go.”

“That’s the spirit, grasshopper,” said Michelle as she squeezed Boo’s shoulders and let go. Boo picked up her bag and headed toward the studio door.

“Remember, tomorrow we’re running through the first act closer from _Anything Goes_!”

Michelle let out another deep sigh at the thought of that brutal routine, calling out to her eager protégé: “A few more nights like these and you’ll have me feeling like the real Danny Glover, Riggs!”

“They keep making those movies, clearly Danny Glover’s always up for a little hoo-ha!”

“Ughhh!!!”

**********

Boo exited the studio, eyes adjusting to the faded light of the gloaming. It was the end of August now, getting close to the start of fall, meaning more nights like this when her evening forays with Michelle would take them past sundown. As she took the dozen steps toward the guest house, Boo chuckled to herself as she remembered a warning her dad gave her when she first told him she would be staying on the Flowers property when she was in town.

“It can be dangerous living alone! There was a burglary in Oxnard last month.”

“Dad, that’s an hour from here!”

“Burglars have cars!”

Boo unlocked the door and switched on the light, checking the clock on the wall to gauge how much time she had. It was 7:03, exactly 45 minutes before she’d need to head to the Oyster Bar for her 8:00 shift. She hopped into the shower, toweled off, and threw on her work clothes, finally stopping to relax after fixing a tuna salad sandwich and some carrots.

She took her first bite of tuna and checked the clock again - only 7:31, a couple extra minutes than usual. And Boo thought she had been busy at Occidental. Welcome to the real world, kiddo.

Boo opened up her phone and saw a familiar sight: Melanie was back at that skate park in Venice Beach, a popular destination for the “cleoSMACKtra” Instagram account. Who was that girl planting a smooch on her cheek? She was different from the one Mel had been with earlier that summer. Boo double-tapped the pic and left an encouraging comment, knowing she’d get the full story next month when she rejoined Mel in L.A.

She scrolled through Instagram for a few more updates from far-scattered friends. Ginny and her husband had gone to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field, slowly making their way through the landmarks of their new city. Matisse was wrapping up another summer at the Joffrey program, and Rae-Rae had just gotten back to Washington to prepare for her final year at Howard. Cozette was sporting a new beret and sipping a macchiato in Venice - ironic, Mel at Venice Beach and her ex at its namesake. Even when they were apart they always seemed together in spirit.

Boo kept scrolling, subconsciously scanning for snapshots from New York. Nothing new from her most enigmatic friend. It’s not like Sasha was a frequent contributor on social media anyway, and she always went into blackout mode when her ballet company went out on tour. But an update every once in a while would be nice. If Sasha was going to keep freezing her out, it was the best consolation Boo could hope for.

Her phone alarm went off - 7:48, time to head to the Oyster Bar. Godot had the night off so she’d be closing out; one perk of bartending in Paradise, 11 p.m. closing times sure beat 2 a.m. in L.A. Boo tossed the dishes in the sink and grabbed her keys, ready for the trek to the day’s final hustle.


	2. “It Sounds Like a Swedish Brothel”

**That Same Night**

Michelle kept her eyes closed for a beat longer than necessary, giving into the exertion she had just put her aging body through and thoughts of what she’d endure tomorrow. Finally overcoming the existential dread, she made one last sweep of the studio - checking for rodents and adventurous young couples - and headed back toward the main house. It couldn’t have been more than 20 steps but to Michelle it felt like the art museum in  _ Rocky _ .

If it were anybody else she might have had second thoughts about going through the ringer day after day, but this wasn’t just anybody else. Bettina Jordan held a special place in Michelle’s heart, dating back to her first day in Paradise all those years ago. The faux audition she set up with those four friends, the way Boo’s face lit up when Michelle told her “Hey Six, Joffrey’s gonna get rocked next week,” returning to those moments always dispelled thoughts of crawling into an ice bath and staying there until someone plucked her up and dropped her into the world’s largest highball.

Michelle opened the kitchen door and heard the sounds of a baseball game coming from the living room TV.

“Fanny! Do any of your painkillers target, say, the entire body? And mind? And spirit?”

“You’re thinking gin, Michelle,” called the older voice from the other room. “Gin is the ultimate triple threat.”

With a wry smile Michelle poured herself one glass of gin, shot it back, and poured another to nurse for the night as she wandered into the living room and joined Fanny on the couch. Fanny was heavily invested in the game; the White Sox were winning for a change.

“Who’re we playing?”

“Kansas City. They’re somehow even worse than the Sox this year.”

“Ahh yes, the Sox always make quick work of Kansas City,” observed Michelle a little too intently.

“You still have no idea what’s happening, do you,” accused Fanny flatly.

“Not a clue,” admitted Michelle, suddenly breaking out the mischievous grin she had teased Boo with earlier. “I just like it when the announcer calls them the ‘Pale Hose’.”

Fanny’s face kept the same blank expression, long impervious to the many years of Michelle Simms cut-ups.

“You’re 12. My daughter-in-law is perpetually 12.”

“It sounds like a Swedish brothel,” giggled the world’s oldest 12-year-old.

Michelle got it out of her system and the two women fell into a content silence as they watched the game. A nightly baseball game was one of the few things that kept a homebound Fanny sane after her fall in March; watching with her daughter-in-law of 24 hours and good friend of six years became a welcome conclusion to so many monotonous days.

“Why baseball?” asked Michelle as the Royals got a couple men on base. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked. It’s the only sport I’ve ever seen you watch.”

Fanny raised her lips into a smile. “It reminds me the most of ballet.”

“Which part,” pondered Michelle. “The spitting? The scratching? Did the White Sox all wear tutus one year?” Occasionally the Chicago broadcast would show clips from one season in the ’70s when the White Sox played in shorts; half the time that’s what kept Michelle watching.

“There’s a certain gracefulness to it,” explained Fanny. “I noticed when I first started watching with Michael. You have to be graceful to play baseball.”

Right on cue, the White Sox second baseman Moncada scooped up a ground ball and shoveled it underhand toward the bag. The shortstop Anderson snagged it, lept over a sliding Royal, and fired a dart to first base. A double play: when executed well, by far the most graceful of all baseball plays. And the Sox sure turned a graceful one.

“Impressive,” said Michelle, and she meant it. “You ought to see if that Anderson fellow wants any offseason work.”

“If we didn’t do our  _ Nutcracker _ in the middle of the summer, he’d make a perfect Cavalier,” mused Fanny. 

The final at-bat of the inning wasn’t nearly as awe-inspiring; a hulking slugger named Duda rolled a pitch over to first base and was out before he could make it a quarter of the way up the line.

“That guy moves so slow! I’ve seen cows in quicksand move faster!”

“No slower than you after some of your sessions with Boo,” teased Fanny, turning Michelle’s patented snark on its head.

“Don’t remind me,” sighed Michelle, suddenly aware of the aching in her muscles the game and the gin had managed to block out. “Kid’s gonna run me into the ground, and then I’ll have to pay someone to harvest your good hip for me.”

Talk turned to Boo’s progress as the game rolled on. The two women expressed admiration for her hustle in the months since graduating college. When Michelle had first heard about Boo’s L.A.-Paradise plan she was glad to offer her the guest house whenever she was in town; it was getting little use anyway since its primary occupant had moved into the main house to look after Fanny.

While it was a real debate as to who was the best dancer to pass through Paradise Dance Academy, both women agreed that nobody had ever maxed out their talent more than Boo. She had always been a good dancer, but through sheer force of will she made herself professional caliber. More than anyone they’d seen, she wanted this.  _ If she could just put that business with Sasha behind her _ …thought Michelle, keeping the whole story to herself.

“I’ll tell you, Fanny, if I had had that kid’s drive when I was her age…” Michelle trailed off, lost in thought of a future never came.

“Then you still would’ve led an exciting life,” said Fanny, filling in the blanks. “But you wouldn’t be here right now.”

That observation brought Michelle back to earth. Fanny had never been one for directly expressing affection, so to hear her say that was almost like hearing “I love you.”

“You’re right,” said Michelle, smiling warmly toward the woman she still considered a mother figure. The two sat in silence for a beat, letting the tender moment breathe.

The game finally ended with the White Sox winning 9-3. Michelle said her good nights and got up to head to Hubbell’s old room, which became her room when she moved in because Fanny couldn’t manage the stairs.

“Just remember, it’s never too late until you can’t arabesque without needing major surgery,” called Fanny as Michelle made her way toward the stairs, ruefully recalling the incident that had kept her homebound for the past few months. Michelle received the message, but with her muscles creaking as she climbed the stairs she knew how deep she was into the twilight of her own professional career.

Still, she thought with every sore step, what a twilight it had been. Seeing “her girls” chase their own dreams had ignited a long-dormant spark within Michelle. When Boo’s class graduated she decided to give the Southern California scene one more try. Working around her Paradise commitments, she auditioned up and down the coast and landed several roles. One summer she had a bit part in a  _ South Pacific _ revival in Thousand Oaks, the next she got to star as Marian Paroo in a Santa Clarita production of  _ The Music Man _ . She even made it on an episode of  _ The Good Place _ , dancing in the background of a ruminating Ted Danson.

Michelle opened up the doors and stepped onto Hubbell’s balcony, closing her eyes to immerse herself in the balmy air of the late summer night. For someone who finally found her drive in her late 30s, she thought, she had quite the four-year stretch to hang her hat on. The kid really had stayed in the picture.

Once she turned 40, though, she recognized the writing on the wall. The auditions were getting tougher, the callbacks fewer and far between. Between that and Fanny’s fall months earlier, Michelle had long since realized that she’d be anchored in Paradise for good.

Michelle contemplated it all as she stared out toward the abyss; there were some nights she swore it was staring back at her. Only the ringing of her phone broke her trance; she grinned as she looked down and saw Talia calling from Connecticut. “Hey momma! How’d Caleb enjoy his first day of kindergarten?”

Ten years ago Michelle would’ve gnawed off her own arm at the thought of being anchored anywhere. But now, for the first time in her life, she had a clear vision of what the rest of her life could be. After all she’d been through, it looked pretty nice. Days spent igniting the passions of the next generation and nights spent challenging the Pacific to a staring contest? There were worse ways for an old dancer to fade away.


End file.
